Choices
by AryYuna
Summary: 'You are gonna have to make some choices.' Some choices. Different choices. Same choices. NO Tiva. NO slash. Tag to 8x21


SUMMARY: '_You are gonna have to make some choices.' _Some choices. Different choices. Same choices.

GENRES: _Angst_

PERSONAGGI:_ Anthony "Tony" D. DiNozzo, Erika Jane "EJ" Barret, Leroy __Jethro Gibbs, Jeanne Benoit_

RATING: _T (just for a couple of bad words)_

TIME FRAME: _Right after 08x21. Possible spoilers through all the seasons up to 10x10_

_At first, I didn't like EJ; but re-watching Season 8 I realized that maybe I let Gibbs influence me__ too much; she's not an unpleasant character, and her romance with Tony… well, it's good. Watching episode 8x21 ('Dead Reflection') I thought about Tony's _other_ romance, the one I'm probably the only one to love (hey, are there only Tiva fans out there?) a__nd… well, I _had_ to write something. After all, I've been watching NCIS since Season 1, it was a given that I'd write some fanfiction about it, sooner or later… Hope you like it :)_

_English is not my first language, so if you find any mistakes, do not hesi__tate to point them out to me. You can find this story in Italian here: www__ .__ efpfanfic __.__ net __/__ viewstory __.__ php?sid=1912984&i=1_

_A _huge_ thank you - but 'thank you' is just not enough - to FrancyChan, who accepted to be my beta for this sto__ry in Italian _and_ in English, and her corrections were meticulous, clear and complete with an explaination. And on top of that, she was also willing to discuss them with me. You're wonderful, Francy!_

**Disclaimer**_: sadly, I do not own NCIS. If I did, I would__n't be here writing fanfictions, you would actually watch my ideas on screen. And Tony would be married to a 23-yr-old Italian girl named Arianna. And McGee would still have a normal family (at least one member on the team!). And Senior would have never ap__peared on the show _u_u_ But NCIS is not mine…_

**Choices**

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

Ziva's words kept haunting him, playing again and again in his head like when she'd uttered them and EJ, as if on cue, was entering the break room to pour herself a cup of coffee.

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

Some choices. Different choices. Same choices.

'I already made a choice'. And again, and again. Different choices. Same choices.

Why had it to be always that hard? Why couldn't he just fall in love like normal people? Why there always had to be something complicated in his relationships?

He parked the car in the garage of his building and took the elevator to the sixth floor still musing on what had happened that day - and on Ziva's words. Again and again.

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

He slipped the key into the keyhole and let himself into his apartment shrugging off his backpack and coat as soon as he was in. He started to undress as he walked to his bedroom, finding himself briefly wondering how a wife would take his backpack left on the floor and his tie on the couch; but albeit he would've laughed about that stupid thought, once, pretending even to himself that after all he was lucky not knowing what having someone whining about his mess felt like, he now couldn't help but wondering if he'd ever find out.

He sat warily on his bed. He'd never taken a girl home before EJ.

He'd wanted to do it with Jeanne - he wondered what the beautiful doctor would've said about his single bed when she had a queen-size one - but he couldn't risk for her to read his real name on his mailbox, or hear it from his neighbors, or find his badge and guns. So he used to go to her place, but she didn't seem to mind, and after all they'd ended up talking about moving together.

On the other hand, he'd never taken the other girls to his apartment for other reasons; they usually invited him to their places or - when they didn't - he could easily persuade them to book a room for the night in a cheap hotel: if you pick someone up in a bar around midnight, you're hardly looking for anything more that a satisfying fuck, after all. And his 'girlfriends', those who actually got a couple dates with him, where happy to show him to their roommates and didn't make a fuss about his pathetic excuses - "I live very far from here" was one of worst he'd ever used but, surprisingly, a lot of them had fallen for it. Maybe he wasn't the only one with commitment issues.

EJ, though, was different. With EJ he had an equal relationship; she was beautiful, smart, confident, perceptive. She hadn't fallen for a second for his act, and this had intrigued him since the first time they'd talked. She'd seen beyond his mask, and accepted the real Tony.

Ironically, the only other woman who'd liked - _loved_ - the real Tony had been Jeanne, the very woman with whom everything had started because of a lie.

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

Again. He'd already had to choose between the job and the love once. And it'd hurt, hurt so much he felt physical pain. That 'no' he'd had to say to Jeanne, the pain, the hatred in her beautiful eyes had torn him inside.

He slumped back on the bed and kicked off his shoes. He wished he could sleep for twenty-four hours straight and wake up to a simpler life, where he didn't have to choose between the woman he loved and his surrogate family.

Maybe he was the problem; no-one else in his place would've worried so much. Even EJ couldn't understand why he was so afraid of Gibbs.

But he wasn't afraid. If he was, his choice would've been easier. He wasn't afraid of Gibbs: he was afraid to disappoint him, and disappointing Gibbs was like being eight and crying alone in his room because his mom was gone and wouldn't be back ever again, trying not make any noise, because _Di__Nozzo men don't cry_, and being eleven and being sent to boarding school, away from home and his few friends, and being twelve and being disinherited by his father because for the first time he hadn't apologized for acting like a twelve-year-old, and being twenty and seeing his hopes to become a basketball pro crushing along with his knee, and being twenty-nine and finding out his partner was dirty, and seeing his fiancée giving him his ring back the night before their wedding…

Probably he was the problem, because at age of thirty-nine he'd accumulated an almost-wedding and a real story based on a lie, and it was just plain obvious that there was no future with EJ. Maybe it was just the way destiny had to save EJ from him, it was _clear_ that he was the problem. And that he did or didn't believe in destiny was irrelevant, the fact was EJ would've been better off without him. And then he wouldn't disappoint Gibbs.

Maybe.

Or maybe not. He'd disappointed his own father time and time again. How else could he explain the times the senior DiNozzo'd left - forgotten - him at home or in hotel while he was taking care of his business? Nobody forgets a good son. He _had_ to be the problem. Statistics don't lie. He'd better leave EJ while he was in time, while she was alive and unhurt. If he didn't, after all, she would, sooner or later. And he would lose everything, the team, the love…

He forced himself to get up from his bed and undress fully, took a shower and put on his grey OSU sweats and hoodie.

The next day he'd break off with EJ, for his and her sake, he told himself. But as he was repeating himself those words, he knew they were untrue. He didn't want to break off. He'd given up on Jeanne, and it had been devastating enough, he couldn't go through all that again, he couldn't pick up the pieces of his life again, hoping he'd find them all and put them together hiding the cracks. He could still see the ones left by his relationship with Jeanne, they still hurt. He didn't want to add another relationship that was over before having a chance to begin, another choice that left him broken inside. He wouldn't be able to heal his wounds again, to hide them from other people. Pretending had gotten more and more complicated, acting when he was in the presence of other people was impossible if he couldn't hide his pain from himself, couldn't persuade himself that it was tolerable, that he could carry on, smiling and joking like he didn't have a care in the world.

He wasn't hungry. And he didn't feel like phoning for take-out anyway, so he just glanced towards his fish-less bowl on the table in the corner - he needed to find time to go buy another goldfish; his little fish-less little aquarium looked pretty sad, but since its last resident had died, Tony had been all but swallowed by his work - before collapsing on his couch and turning his TV on, hoping in some late Magnum marathon.

He was about to give up and go to bed when someone knocked on the door.

And without realizing it, a smile appeared on his face as he went to let EJ in.

* * *

EJ was sleeping, half curled on him due to the little room offered by his single bed. She'd never said anything about the unusual size of his bed - whether because she'd understood its reason or because she'd just chose not to comment he was uncertain - adjusting without problem to sleep or make love on it. He didn't believe there were many women who'd have reacted the same way.

He laid there looking at the ceiling, EJ's regular breath tickling the hairs on his chest as a background to his thoughts that, again, were focusing on Ziva's words.

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

His choice was there, asleep next to - on - him. But it was a painful choice, because making it meant losing everything he had and what, if he looked at it, was his longest relationship. It almost made him laugh: Tony DiNozzo, womanizer by passion, had never been with the same woman longer than a few months - except his three years with Wendy and his _too long_ undercover op with Jeanne - but had been close to eleven years at Gibbs' side, a feat that nobody had accomplished before. If you thought about it - and it was even more disturbing - Gibbs had had him on his team longer than he'd been married to his ex-wives. He suddenly hoped his boss' relationship with Shannon had lasted longer.

But thinking about Gibbs' first wife was never a good idea. In an instant he found himself back to that awful day when, almost five years after leaving Baltimore with his heart broken by two people who he thought cared about him, he saw the man he looked at as a friend, a mentor - and something else he was _so _not thinking - first being blown up, then going into a coma, waking up after losing his memory and finally leaving his team, after revealing he'd lied to them all since he's met them about his first wife and daughter.

God, it hurt. People easily bought his act, accepted with no problem the image of the shallow self-assured to the point of cockiness Peter Pan. But those who tried to look beyond that knew that it was just an act: Tony DiNozzo wasn't the immature braggart he hid behind, his self-confidence was just a front built throughout the years - too many years - to protect himself. It was hard for him to trust people, trust for real. Few times he'd given his trust, and every time had been harder than the previous. The last time had been in Baltimore, and it left him so battered that it took him months to relax enough to show his new boss glimpses of the hidden Tony, and even then, they'd been brief and far between moments, fragmented by the succession of new members on team Gibbs that made attaching to them impossible. The arrival of Kate first and then McGee had given the team some stability, but it also reinforced his defenses: fewer people saw beyond his mask, fewer chances he'd have to be hurt again. Kate's death had confirmed his theory.

But Gibbs had always been there and he'd proved he cared.

Until the explosion. Until Tony'd found out that his boss had never trusted them enough, that he'd always lied to them, demanding at the same time for them to always be sincere with him.

His insecurities had come back; Tony'd almost given up, he'd almost moved again: new city, new PD, just like he'd done with Peoria, Philly, Baltimore… he'd stayed in the District too long - almost five years, as opposed to his average two years in every other Department… but he didn't. he'd stayed for the team, and he'd stayed because, in spite of everything, NCIS had been different for him, and a part of him felt even guilty for being mad at Gibbs after was the older man had been through: how could Tony, who'd made his masks his identity, having it in for someone who'd lied about something as devastating as losing a wife and child like that? He'd added a new layer to the wall between him and the other people and he'd stayed, he'd picked what Gibbs had left him, he'd led the team in his absence and given it back when he'd returned, without any fuss, stepping back to his old place and focusing on the Director Shepard's secret assignment, unaware of what it'd deliver to him.

He sighed, realizing that his train of thoughts had brought him back to Jeanne. How appropriate, the circle came full. His wounds re-opened because they'd never closed for real, and Tony knew they'd never heal, now. He could try and cover them, hide them from other people, but it wasn't enough anymore.

He looked back at EJ who was blissfully sleeping with her head on his chest, unaware of the thought haunting him.

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

Why, Ziva? Why do I have to choose? Have you had to choose between NCIS and Ray?

_My team. My rules._

He had the sudden urge to punch something. Why was Gibbs doing this to him? 'My loyal Saint Bernard' he'd called him once, and he knew half squad room had started calling him that beyond his back when they were dedicating to the malevolent hobby of scuttlebutt and it was team Gibbs' turn to be the theme; he knew that many agents who'd never worked with him thought the former Marine just kept Tony on his team because he enjoyed having a faithful dog who got never tired of being kicked, who _kept coming back for more_, and drooled just to receive a little praise, even when it was preceded and followed by more kicks. Why else a tough and no-nonsense man like Gibbs would've accepted in his team a childish man who spent his free time - and not just that - pulling stupid pranks over his colleagues and flirting with anything in a skirt?

He closed his eyes for a moment, wondering if Gibbs really felt like that, and that slammed them open telling himself that no, it was impossible, and he couldn't even dare to contemplate it for a moment.

_My team. My rules._

_I depend on you._

And why it suddenly felt wrong lying there, naked in his too small bed with the woman his boss had forbidden him to date? He felt… guilty. As if he was someway _betraying_ Gibbs. And he'd been betrayed too many times not to know what it meant - how it hurt - to inflict something like that on the man who'd given him a place to go when his world had crushed on him, and who'd been with him in any moment he needed him - hell, Gibbs had _ordered_ him to live!

But then EJ stirred in her sleep, and nothing seemed that clear anymore, his guilt faded and his insecurities were still there.

_You are gonna have to make some choices._

I know, Ziva.

_Glad I am not you._

As he'd told Tim that morning, their life was a lot simpler before she and her team got there. Gibbs was the Washington MCRT leader, he was his Senior Field Agent, his loyal Saint Bernard who albeit seemed to spent all his time goofing around still was a good agent who his boss though high about, and his only Rule-Twelve-related worry was how to flirt with Ziva while teasing McGee along with her or correct her often messed up idioms alongwith him.

Life was a lot simpler, before.


End file.
